


Lassoing Elephants

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-09
Updated: 2003-12-09
Packaged: 2018-10-07 02:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10350753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: WARNINGS: Our favorite Colonel Potty MouthSPOILERS:StargateSUMMARY: O’Neill receives a valuable gift wrapped up in a very bad day.SEASON: 7





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Stargate SG-1 FanFiction - Lassoing Elephants

 

 

 

 

 

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Even if you could, why would you want to?

Have you ever had one of those days that starts out okay when you swing your legs out of bed, then without warning and for no particular reason, it suddenly banks into a steep curve and takes a dive into a deep pile of crap? Well, that’s today.

As usual, I sit up in bed 15 minutes before the alarm is set to go off. It’s just past 0430 hours, and dark as pitch, inside and out. I reach over and turn off the alarm, then sit there on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes and wondering where the hell we’re going today. I know we’re scheduled to go off-world, but honest to God, I can’t even remember why, let alone to where.

Maybe I’ve been doing this too long, or maybe I just need a really good vacation. You know, the kind where you don’t get beamed aboard some alien ship. Or the kind where you don’t arrive back at work just to be arrested for the murder of some slimy-assed politician that everybody on the face of the earth, including you, is glad is dead. In fact, you kinda wished you _had_ killed him, but somebody else got around to it first. You’re just lucky enough to get the credit.

Anyway, I think I need one of those nice, normal vacations, because lately all these planets and aliens and Jaffa and pseudo-freakin’-snakehead-gods are all starting to look and sound alike to me. In fact, I’d like nothing more than to ship every damn one of them to Netu on a one-way, econo class ticket. Well, except for Thor. After all, the little guy did name a ship after me, even if he did blow it up right away. And Jonas. Wherever the hell he is, he turned out to be a pretty solid guy. And maybe Jacob and Bra’tac, but they make the list only because I know Carter and Teal’c would miss them.

So, I sit and stare over at the dresser hiding in the dark across the room, and wonder where I’m going today, and are we gonna wear the blues or the greens, or maybe we’ll get lucky and break out the desert camo – that’s always nice for a change of pace. Yawning loudly, I stand up and head for the bathroom thinking that sometimes a good morning pee is all it takes to clear my head and improve my mood – and I don’t _even_ want to try to wrap my sleepy brain around the reason for that. I step into the bathroom, flip on the light, and my day suddenly banks into that deep curve. As I feel the bathroom rug slip out from under my feet and I see myself diving headfirst into that dung heap that’s gonna be my day, I think, well, at least I’m in the right place for it.

I wake up a few minutes later, face down, staring at the tile on my bathroom floor. I really need to clean the grout. Not only do I see a bit of grime, there’s blood, too. I moan out loud. No need to worry about appearances. After all, I’m face down on my bathroom floor, and I’m the only one here.

"Shit." Well, that about sums it up. My arms trembling, I force myself to my knees. I have to grab onto the side of the toilet to get my balance. "Crap." If I seem to be a bit lacking in my usual imaginative use of the English language, perhaps it’s because my face feels like it’s been beaten in with a hammer. No, scratch that. Two-by-four. I reach up with my free hand, and tentatively touch my face. "Aw, dammit." Yep, definitely a two-by-four.

I take my time getting all the way to my feet, taking a detour along the way by sitting on the edge of the tub for a couple of minutes trying to convince my stomach that vomiting through a split lip is definitely not in my best interests. I’ve forgotten all about my morning ablutions in light of the jackass that was hiding in my bathroom and has kicked me in the face. Why couldn’t he just bite me in the ass like every other creature in the universe? Or better yet, just poke a friggin’ hole in my already hole-poked anatomy?

Finally, my head beginning to pound in earnest, I stand up and look in the mirror. "Holy crap!" Even I’m impressed. I look like I’ve gone a round with a squad of Marines. Or Bra’tac.

Maybe if I wash off all the blood that will help. I dampen a washcloth and lean over the sink, gently trying to wipe away the blood, which is difficult when you’re still bleeding. I rinse the cloth out and take it with me to the bedroom. I lay back across the bed and press the cloth to my nose, already trying to figure out what my story’s going to be. I certainly can’t have it known that I tripped over a rug in my bathroom. People with battleships named after them don’t do things like that. I mean, I have a universal reputation to consider here.

But, what if I weren’t in _my_ bathroom? Maybe I was in _her_ bathroom and this happened during some kinky shower sex? Okay. Now all I have to do is figure out who ‘her’ is. I actually chuckle at that one – a move I regret when my swelling face feels like it cracks wide open. "Ow!"

I hold up the washcloth, look at the fresh blood, and press it down again. I am prepared to wait for hell to freeze over. I will lay here until either I bleed out or I am healed, because I refuse to face anyone with this face. I have had to deal with a lot of crap in my life, but this ranks right up there. I mean, really, am I that bad? Do I really deserve this after everything I’ve done for this country? This planet?

Okay. I am _so_ not going in to work today. Screw the trip to planet yadda-yadda-yadda. The natives there will just have to get their jollies out of someone else’s hide. I am dragging this sorry, skinny, kicked ass back to bed, pulling the covers up over my way-too-grey head, and am not crawling out until a certain old Jaffa stops referring to me as ‘human.’

A little over an hour later, I park my truck in my usual spot. Well, at least something has gone right today – my truck started and no one plowed into me on the drive to work. I grab my keys out of the ignition and look up at the sound of a thick, wet splat. A three-inch wide, moon-shaped crescent of bird crap glides its way down my windshield, oozing onto the hood of my otherwise spotless truck. Okay, I may be a little slow on the uptake, but this has got to be a bad sign.

Heaving a deep sigh through my battered lips, I crawl reluctantly from the truck and slam the door. The entire walk across the parking lot, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wonder what it will be this time – an unexplained meteor strike? I can hear them now: ‘Poor sap, never knew what hit him.’ Well, the joke will be on them. I’ll have them know, I saw it coming a mile away; but there’s no way to avoid it when something as big as the cosmos has it in for you.

I enter the mountain and check in with security. I’m almost sorry for anyone who has to stand too close to me. Maybe that warning sign I’d wanted to post at the base of the ramp should be tattooed on my forehead instead. Teal’c can keep his little squiggly, snaky symbol, and I’ll stick with a simple ‘BEWARE: May prove hazardous to your health.’

I study the face of the unsuspecting guard who checks my ID. He looks like he might still be in high school. But, I’ll give him this: when he looks at me, you’d never guess that my left eye is beginning to blacken and swell, along with my split lip and sore nose. He waves me on with a smart salute and a ‘good morning, sir.’ I grunt, wag a couple of fingers at him so he can put his arm down, and make my way down to the 11th floor, where I get to do this all over again.

After arriving at my office, I spend three-quarters of an hour going through my in-box before heading to Hammond’s office. He’d asked to meet with me before our briefing to go over a budgeting problem. Seems some big shot back in Washington has decided that the field units are requisitioning too many med-kits. This, from the same office that thinks every backpack should include a dozen condoms and a pamphlet entitled "Representing Your Country With Pride: Definitive Ways to Defuse Cultural Differences."

I mean, what the hell do these guys think we do out there? No, really, I’d like to know. And if I ever meet them, I plan on finding out. I’m also looking forward to telling them that despite the glossy paper, the pamphlets make great tinder; and the condoms are highly amusing not only to me, but to numerous and sundry young aliens who’ve never even heard of balloons, let alone got to play with one.

"Colonel O'Neill?" The tone of disbelief in the General’s voice raises the head of his assistant who’s sitting behind the desk across the room.

"Morning, sir."

The General waves me into his office and shuts the door behind us. We both take a seat and he stares over at my face, shaking his head. "What happened to you?"

I gently touch my lip and my nose. To be perfectly honest, they hurt. My head’s still clanging a bit, too. I manage to smile, albeit somewhat tightly due to the swollen lip. "Cut myself shaving."

Hammond chuckles and shakes his head again. "Sure, Jack. If you say so."

"Yes, sir."

Well, that was easy, and then we move on to business. By the time we emerge from his office, we’ve made no real headway, but the General is laughing softly over my description of SG-1 making weiner dog balloons out of condoms and passing them out to alien children. So, seeing as Hammond suffers from far too much stress, I personally view the meeting a rousing success.

My team is seated around the briefing table, waiting on us. Carter starts to get to her feet as we approach, and the General waves her back down.

"Holy cow, Jack! What happened to you?"

I take my usual seat next to Hammond. "This?" I indicate what must by now be a colorful face. "Exploding beer bottle." The General chokes back a bark of laughter.

"A what, sir?"

I look over at Carter, and try to smirk around my injuries. "Don’t pretend it’s never happened to you, Major."

She looks slightly confused, as does Daniel. Teal’c looks – amused?

"No, sir."

I snort, which proves painful, and glance over at Hammond. "Right." I shake my head as if in disbelief, and his blue eyes sparkle. He clears his throat and quickly glances away.

"Okay. Down to business. Major Carter–," and before I know it the General has directed the conversation away from the subject of my face and on to Planet BR549, or whatever it is.

Finally, Carter and Daniel shut up, and I force my stiff, abused body upright. At least now I know the where and why of our mission: a simple UAV retrieval on some uninhabited planet that Carter assures us is similar to Abydos. Cool – desert camo. As the General heads back to his office, the rest of us direct our steps towards the infirmary for a routine ‘pre-flight.’

"Sir, what did you say happened to you?"

I step into the elevator and lean against the back wall, watching them closely. "My neighbor’s cat kicked me."

Carter tries to hide her smile, and Daniel frowns and shoves his glasses higher up on his face.

"That’s not what you said earlier, Jack."

"I was confused."

"Which time?"

I glare over at my 2IC, but am distracted by Teal’c’s deep voice. "I do not believe it is possible for a cat to kick you and cause such damage, O’Neill."

I rotate my glare over to him. "Oh, really? Well, big guy," the elevator dings and the doors slide open. I step up into Teal’c’s face and look him in the eye. "Then how do you explain this?" I point at my face.

Teal’c frowns at me, clearly stumped. "I cannot."

Welcome, class, to Diversion Tactics 101.

"Yeah, well," and I walk out of the elevator and lead them towards the infirmary and, God help me, Doc Fraiser.

Speak of the diminutive devil. She has her back to us and is lining up a row of instruments of torture on a metal tray. "Well, is everyone ready to–," she has turned around and is frowning over at my self-inflicted face graffiti. Actually, I imagine I do look a bit like a Picasso – you know, nose shoved to one side, eyes out of alignment and one bigger than the other, lips don’t quite match up.

Without waiting for her to demand it of me, I hop up onto the exam table and smile crookedly. "So, what do you think?" I tilt my head from one side to the other, giving her the full view, and she seems to come out of her fugue.

"Colonel, should I even ask what happened?"

Carter and Daniel answer ‘yes’ at the same time, causing Fraiser to glance at them before turning back to me.

"Okay." She grabs my chin with one small hand and studies the damage at close range. "I’ll bite. What happened?"

"Guess."

She steps back and stares at me, smiling that little pixie grin of hers, the one that at various times makes me either want to pinch her cheeks or slap them. "You tripped over the bathroom rug."

Holy – I remain calm and glance over at my kids, lifting my undamaged eyebrow. "You are _very_ warm, Doc."

"How warm?" Daniel is nearly salivating with curiosity, and Carter looks just as bad. Teal’c looks – amused?

I smile just a little and look back at Fraiser. "The shower."

"You fell in the shower." Technically, it should be a question but it isn’t, and her tone indicates that she’s not sure she believes me, although I have no idea why. She glances up at my hair and I suddenly wonder if she can tell it hasn’t been washed since yesterday morning.

Time for Diversion Tactics 201.

"It was my fault. She said I couldn’t–," I look down at my hands, over at my team, and back at Fraiser. Give me a little statue named Oscar, I even manage a slight blush, although for a different reason than they suspect. I feel a bit bad about lying to them. A bit, but not a lot. "Let’s just say my future in gymnastics went down the drain," I mumble pathetically.

Daniel chuckles. I glare over at him, and find Carter’s blues eyes are huge and she’s hiding her mouth behind a surprisingly dainty looking hand. Teal’c’s left eyebrow is nearly touching what should have been his hairline – I think. I glance back over at Fraiser who is suddenly preoccupied with the stethoscope hanging around her neck. Inside, ‘mini me’ raises his tiny little arms in the air and shouts ‘yeeeesss!’ O’Neill scores the winning goal.

Three and a half hours later, I don’t feel quite so victorious, despite the fact that I’d passed Fraiser’s vigorous poking and prodding with surprising ease. Seems my little sojourn did nothing more than bruise my face and my dignity. But, after two hours of traipsing around on Planet Heatstroke, I’m beginning to wish I had broken my already twice-broken nose. At least then I wouldn’t have sand in my boots and in – well, other places. Carter was almost right: This place _is_ a lot like Abydos. Only hotter. Much hotter. Much, much hotter. And more barren.

I take off my cap, run a hand through my sweaty hair, and put my cap back on, flinching when I bump the sunglasses sitting on the bridge of my sore nose. "Major–"

"Not too far now, sir."

I can’t imagine why she’s anticipated my question. I’ve only asked it, what, 10 times since we got here. But, damn, it seems to be getting hotter and no matter how far we go, we’re only halfway home. All this for a stinkin’ UAV? Maybe we should put a bungee cord on those things. Or a big rubber band that will snap them back to the gate when they go down. I say as much to my team, and they look at me like I’m stupid. Or, just maybe, brilliant.

"Well, thank God, we have our condoms and our pamphlets," I pronounce as I look around at miles and miles of sand and squat.

"How’s the face feeling, Jack?"

At his question, I realize my head is pounding and forget what I was getting ready to say. Which, unless I’m mistaken, was probably Daniel’s intent. I glare over at the little bastard, but he refuses to look at me. Instead, the three of them slide their way down the next sand dune in a long line of endless sand dunes.

I dry swallow three painkillers, then step in behind them. On the fifth step, I set my foot right down in the middle of it – that dung heap. How the hell it had managed to arrive here before me all the way through the Stargate and across the desert from my tidy little bathroom, I have no idea. But it had. My foot sank toe-first and ankle deep into the sand drift, suddenly throwing my balance off and pitching me forward.

Except for the fact that I’m in the middle of a freakin’ sand trap, I have no idea why I yell a cautionary ‘fore!’ Considering the fact that I’m tumbling down the hill head over backpack over heels towards my three team members, it’s obvious I have suddenly taken up bowling and am headed for my first strike. But, however inappropriate, my warning call is enough to make them look back over their shoulders and then launch themselves out of my path.

I hear Carter yelling ‘Colonel’ on my way down, but the only other sound is the grunt forced out of me every time my backpack slams into the sand. Just when I think I’ll never stop, I do. Hard. My right foot slams into something solid, causing a shard of pure agony to shoot from beneath my kneecap up into my groin. That is immediately followed by my already sore nose cracking against the same knee.

I fall back against the sand, unable to moan, my lungs so emptied of air they are technically collapsed. Laying on my backpack, knees bent, I probably look like a sunbathing turtle, but my mouth is moving like a damn fish as I try without success to inhale. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by concerned cohorts, who manage to kick sand into my open, gulping mouth. I spit and splutter, trying to rid myself of a mouthful of desert, and finally manage that breath of air I so desperately need. I inhale deeply, loudly, and then proceed to cough up a few tablespoons of grit. All of which is immediately followed by a wave of nausea so severe that I think I just heaved up last week’s chili enchilada surprise.

Speaking of surprises, "I found it," I manage to call out, my voice raspy as a two-pack-a-day smoker.

"What? Found what, sir?"

Still trying to catch my breath, blood from my nose dripping off my chin, and my knee making everything between my waist and my thighs shrivel up and die, I point with my only functional foot to the thing which stopped my mad tumble across the desert. The UAV. Covered with a thin layer of sand.

"Oh! You did!"

I glare up at Carter, who actually sounds happy about my discovery. At least she shows common sense enough to wipe the happy grin off her smug little face. She clears her throat and shrugs out of her pack, hopefully digging for a med-kit.

Who would have guessed that a two-hour hike out would evolve into a five-hour trek back? But it did. Walking on sand is hard. It’s exhausting, and it’s hot, and it’s just – well, hard. Try doing it when every other step sends searing pain up your thigh, across your groin and into the pit of your stomach. Add on to that a throbbing face, a pounding head, and a dry, hacking cough. Sum total: Col. O’Neill in full piss-mode. I make no excuses or apologies.

By the time we reach the gate, none of us are speaking. Me, because it hurts too much and I don’t want to. The rest of them, because they are understandably wary of drawing attention to themselves. Every time any of them has so much as opened their mouth to me in the last hour, I’ve bitten off a huge chunk of their sense of self-worth. It doesn’t taste good going down, but I’m like a damn dog with a bone: I can’t seem to stop myself from gnawing.

When we step onto the ramp in the gateroom, I can hardly believe this is the same dung heap day that started out with me kissing my bathroom floor. Hell, Hammond and Fraiser are still on duty. Shouldn’t they be home by now? In bed? Fast asleep? Shouldn’t I be? I glance at my wristwatch. Not quite 1700 hours. Not even dinner time.

"Colonel, are you all right?"

I stare over at the General. I don’t think he really wants to know. And I think he knows that I know that he really doesn’t want to know. "Oh, I’m just peachy. Mission completed. All UAV’s, condoms and pamphlets duly accounted for. Sir." I end with a deep cough.

I’m aware of Doc making her way towards me, and see Carter shake her head, warning her away. Good move, Major. Maybe the ‘hazard’ tattoo would be redundant after all; it seems all I have to do is look at them and they scatter, except for the General. He puffs out his chest and stares right back at me, then orders me and my team to report to the infirmary. Coward.

Fraiser sees to my team first, leaving me sitting on an exam bed behind a pulled curtain wearing a crisp, open-backed, paper gown. Pissed as I am, I can still recognize and reluctantly appreciate a battle plan when I see it. Sit the nasty Colonel in a quiet corner until he cools down, then approach with caution.

As if on cue, the curtain parts and Doc steps inside. She usually has a nurse in tow, but today she’s alone. She approaches me, smiling and holding a clipboard in front of her rather like a shield. Then again, knowing Fraiser, she’s more likely to bludgeon me with it than hide behind it.

"Sir." Fraiser nods back at the bed. "Would you mind laying down, Colonel? It would make it easier to examine you."

I sigh and lean back, which spawns a minor coughing jag. She watches me, waits until I’m finished.

"Are you all right? Do you need some water?"

I shake my aching head. "No. I’m fine."

"Okay. Well, I need to examine your leg, sir." She sets the clipboard aside. I feel warm fingers on my swollen knee, and try not to wince. "I’ll try to be easy. Let me know if I’m hurting you."

I softly snort, and close my eyes. This is ridiculous. Does she think I don’t know what she’s doing? It’s the oldest trick in the book. Give him an option, an out. Don’t tell him what to do; present it in the form of a request. She’s not the only one who’s used this method. Although, grudgingly, I have to admit that it works more often than not. I groan as she prods a little too hard, and her hand is immediately withdrawn.

"Sorry, sir." I open my eyes and find her standing near my shoulder. "Could you turn this way, I need to check the injuries to your face."

I roll on my side, facing her, and clench my fists as she feels along my nose.

"It’s not broken," I nasally announce.

"Hmm." She leans close, studying my swollen left eye and my split lip. "I think you’re right. Still, we should have it x-rayed just to be certain."

"Crap." I’ll be lucky to get out of here by 2300 hours.

"It won’t take long. We have to take some films of your knee anyway. Now," she pulls out the stethoscope, presses it to my chest. "Deep breath." I inhale, and cough.

"I just breathed in some sand, that’s all."

She pats my shoulder. "We’ll have you out of here as quickly as possible."

For once, she wasn’t lying. It’s not quite 2200 hours when I finish getting dressed and stand up to leave. I have a brace on my right leg, but other than that, I’m in fairly decent shape – well, considering I can’t see my own face, and the fact that Doc slipped me some drugs when I wasn’t looking. I grab the crutches and limp my way over to the door where I’m met by Daniel.

"Hey, Jack. Feeling better?"

"Than what?"

"Um, well, I’m your ride." He grins.

I stare at him a moment. I’d actually forgotten I wouldn’t be able to drive with the brace. And now that I think about, I probably shouldn’t drive under the influence of Doc’s narcotics either.

"Or, do you want to stay here tonight?"

Great, now they have Daniel doing it – giving me an out. "No. You drive me."

"Okay." He smiles again, pleasantly, and we make our way to my truck.

I pull myself up into the cab, relieved but at the same time a little pissed that Daniel doesn’t offer to help me. As he starts the truck and pulls out of the parking lot, I notice that the bird crap has long since dried on the windshield and hood. It’ll be a bitch to clean off now. Leaning back into the corner of the seat, I glance over at Daniel. The dashboard lights cast a pleasant, greenish glow over his face. Watching him, I feel my eyes start to droop.

"Long day, huh, Jack?"

I blink the sleep from my eyes. "Yeah." I turn my head, glance out the window at the black sky, and see my reflection in the glass. My face in the glass is surrounded by stars. Still, I look old, as tired as I feel. I press my forehead against the cool surface. "Not a single good thing about it."

We continue in silence for a few miles, and I feel myself nodding off again.

"You know what day this is, right?"

I look over at him and suddenly I do know. Oh, God. I turn back to the window, wide awake. How could I have forgotten? Since when had I ever forgotten this particular day? Well, that explains the dung heap.

"Jack?"

I know what he’s after. "Yeah, Daniel, I know."

"Things change. You said it yourself."

"I say a lot of things."

"I know how you hate cliches, but you _have_ come a long way, Jack. We all have."

"Have we?" I sit up straighter, look at him, really wanting to know.

He suddenly looks angry, fidgety. "How – how can you even ask that? After everything we’ve done? Everything that’s happened?" He’s clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his fingers are turning white. "God." He looks over at me, but I can’t see his eyes because of the glare of the dashboard lights in his lenses. He shakes his head and turns back to face the road. "You kill me. You know that?"

"I have that effect on people."

"Stop it!"

Daniel slams on the brakes and steers the truck towards the shoulder of the two-lane road. Grabbing the armrest, bracing myself, I feel the bite of the tires in the gravel before the truck shudders to a stop. He switches off the engine and we sit there in the dark, on the side of a mountain road, the pinging of the cooling motor the only noise between us.

"I don’t even know what to say to you. How can I make you see the difference we’ve made? That _you’ve_ made?"

"We’re fighting the same fight. Nothing’s changed, Daniel. Nothing. Can’t you see that? We win a few battles here and there, a _few_ , but the real war hasn’t even started."

"We’re making allies, Jack. We’re forming alli–"

"To what end? Please tell me. What good has it done us? The Tollan, the Tok’ra. Face it, Daniel, they come to us when they need our help. But when we ask for a little something in return, what do we get? A ‘maybe when you’ve matured.’ Even Thor. And I like Thor, I really do, but he’s as guilty as the rest of them. We’re chattel to them. They use us like the Goa’uld use them."

Daniel’s mouth drops open, then he grunts softly. "I – do you really believe that?"

"Sometimes. Today, I do." I want to rub my face but it would hurt too much. I do it anyway, hoping the pain will clear my head. "I’m tired, Daniel. I just want to crawl into bed. Forget this whole day."

I want to forget this day but, more importantly, I want to forget what it stands for, what it commemorates. This should be the anniversary of the day I died. The day I stepped through the wormhole for the first time, accompanied by a nuclear warhead that had written on it the names of every living thing on Abydos, including myself. Myself, Skaara, Sha’re, and all the thousands of others. I was willing to sacrifice us all under the pretense of following orders; a sorry excuse to end Sara’s misery, and mine. To die with a little bit of my honor intact. The only thing I could leave to the mother of my dead child. I had thought it was the least I could offer her.

"You’re wrong, Jack. Something has changed. _You_ have."

I stare at him. Not angry, just weary. "Can we go, please?"

He matches my stare, then shakes his head and reaches over to start the truck. Guess what, folks. I’d been in a nosedive all day, but until he turned the key, I was under the impression that I had already bottomed out. The motor ground, but didn’t turn over.

"Holy crap," I mutter. This is unbelievable.

Daniel tries again. Nothing.

"Well, I know I have gas. I just filled the tank." I glance out my window but I can no longer see the stars, they’re hidden by the trees looming along the side of the deserted stretch of road. I reach in my pocket, and toss him the cell phone. "Here. Call the base. Have them send a car." I open the door and stumble out into the cool darkness.

"Where are you going?"

Leaning up against the side of the truck, I fumble under the seat for the flashlight that had damn well better be there. "Just going to take a look. Pop the hood."

"Oh." He sounds like a scared little kid.

What, he thinks Colonel Gimp is going to run off and leave him? I find the flashlight and flip it on, momentarily blinding him, before slamming the door and hobbling my way to the front of the truck. Maybe it speaks of how tired I really am, or how many drugs Fraiser has loaded me up with, but it takes everything I have to raise the hood and crawl my way up on the front end of the truck.

I check the battery connections; the radiator; hell, I even check the damn dipstick. I wiggle some wires, fiddle with the carburetor and the distributor cap. I don’t find anything; hadn’t expected to. It’s sad to think that my knowledge of machinery is limited to things that kill, like P90's and Beretta’s. I could probably take this engine apart and make enough weapons to outfit a small squadron, but I can’t make it work.

I might as well give up; I’m trying to do the impossible. I crawl off the bumper and lean against the front end of the truck, resting my head on my arms.

"Any luck?"

I don’t move; don’t look him. "You’ll be happy to know that we have plenty of windshield wiper fluid."

He doesn’t laugh. It’s not funny.

"Um–"

Okay, _that_ I don’t like the sound of. I raise my head and look at him. "What?" Why do I get the impression I don’t want to know?

Daniel holds up the phone, smiling tightly. "No signal."

I don’t respond. I just freeze for a moment, then tilt my head back and stare up at the sky. I scan it with my tired, swollen eyes.

"Jack?"

"Just give me a minute."

He does. I’m getting a crick in my neck, and I’m beginning to think Doc’s happy juice has about worked its way out of my system.

"What are you doing?"

Finally, I look at him. "What do you think I’m doing?"

He shrugs and glances up at the sky briefly himself. "I – I don’t know."

"I’m looking for the other shoe, Daniel. The big, cosmic one that’s getting ready to drop on my head."

He snorts back a laugh.

"Or a meteor with my name on it. I’m not sure which."

He laughs for real this time. I watch him and am actually pleased that he can find humor in this. At least, then, something good will have come out of my day. When he realizes I’m not joining him, he stops. Looks worried.

I start to say something, then stop myself. I turn around and ease my aching body down until I’m sitting on the bumper, my bum leg stretched out in front of me. Daniel sits beside me. I suddenly realize the night air is bursting with the sound of crickets.

"Sometimes I feel like I’m trying to lasso an elephant." For once, Daniel doesn’t say anything. "I just wonder if what we’re doing makes a difference." Against the backdrop of the crickets, an owl calls. They’re commonplace, here in the mountains. Expected.

"If I had done it, only a handful of people would have known. Not the men under my command, not even you." My fingers toy with the flashlight, creating a dim, dancing spotlight along the tops of the nearby trees. "And I would have done it, Daniel. I wanted to. I – I would have killed Skaara."

"Sha’re," he whispers.

"Yes. I would have killed her, too."

We sit there for what feels like a long time. My skins prickles with the cold, and I can feel my abused muscles tightening up. Finally, Daniel stands up.

"Could you do it now?

I’m ashamed to admit that I actually have to think about it a second. "No." What I don’t tell him is, I could if the circumstances were right.

He touches my shoulder briefly, then walks back towards the driver’s side of the truck.

"Uh, Jack?"

I glance up at his call, and am momentarily confused by a swirling array of blue and red lights in the top of the trees. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that the first thing that comes to my mind is that aliens have snuck up on us when we weren’t looking. It’s just a matter of _which_ aliens. I stumble to my feet, automatically reaching for a weapon that isn’t there, before I realize I’m looking at the lights of a patrol car.

"Is there a problem here?"

Hanging onto the truck, I limp around to stand behind Daniel, and am blinded with a high-powered flashlight beam. I throw up a hand to cover my eyes. The beam moves down, off my face, and I squint over at the trooper who has pulled off the road behind us. He walks toward us. He rivals Teal’c in size, but that’s about all I can make out.

"What’s going on, gentlemen?"

"My truck broke down."

He glances over at the vehicle, studying it. "Nice truck."

"Thanks."

"Can I see your registration, please?"

See, even he uses the ‘phrase it like a request’ method. "Daniel. Glove box."

"Oh. Yeah."

As Daniel crawls inside and looks for the registration, the trooper watches us closely. I don’t fail to notice that he keeps the hand not holding the flashlight resting almost casually against the holster of his gun. A holster which, I might add, appears to be have been snapped open. Okay, can’t say I blame him. Two guys sitting alongside the road, nice truck that they _say_ doesn’t run, one guy looks like he’s had the crap pulverized out of him. On top of that, if he has an opportunity to take a closer look, he may find evidence of drug use in the pupils of my eyes. At the thought, I can’t help but look at my watch. Just past 2300 hours. Plenty of time yet to bottom out.

"In a hurry?"

I glance back up at him, and give him the first genuine smile of my day. "Actually, yes." I’m in a hurry for this friggin’ day to end.

"You coming down from the Mountain?"

We all know what he means, even Daniel, who has hopped out of the truck and is handing the registration to the trooper.

"Yes, we are." Daniel smiles over at me. "We’re glad you came by. Could you get in touch with our base, ask them to send someone?"

The beam from the flashlight centers on Daniel’s face, nearly blinding him. "I’ll see what I can do. Licenses?"

We hand them over and lean against the side of the truck as the trooper heads back to his car. My knee is throbbing, and despite the cold, I can feel it swelling inside the brace. Doc’s gonna be pissed.

"Good thing he came along."

"Yeah," I have to agree.

We wait. I’d like to sit down, but know the trooper wants to keep us in his sights, so I remain standing.

"What’s taking so long?"

"Sirs." The trooper has opened the car door and is just standing there. "Would you mind taking a seat in the car?" A request again.

Glancing at each other, wondering what’s going on, Daniel and I join him. The trooper opens the back door for Daniel and motions me around to the front. The dome light is on and when the trooper slides in beside me, I’m surprised. I had assumed he would be older, meaner looking. He smiles over at me.

"I got in touch with your CO. They’re sending someone to pick you up." He reaches over and switches on the heat, turning the vent towards me.

"Thank you." Daniel sounds relieved. He must have been thinking we were under arrest, and has probably been wondering what I’ve been up to in my spare time.

"Yeah. Appreciate it."

"No problem." The trooper hands back our licenses and the registration. "Col. Jonathon O’Neill, huh?"

I nod once.

"Hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you don’t look so good, sir."

"Jack’s not having a good day."

I toss a glare at Daniel.

"Jack? Jack O’Neill?"

Suddenly suspicious, I glance down at his name tag. M. Cooper. "Yes."

"You’re a hard man to find."

I glance at Daniel, whose face has suddenly gone pale, and then back at the young man beside me. "Depends on who’s looking."

"Oh, sorry." He holds out a hand to me. "Matt Cooper." Tentatively, I shake his hand. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Finally."

"Finally?" I have to say, I may be slightly under the influence and at the end of a very long, very rough day, but I have absolutely no idea who this guy is or what he’s about.

"We’ve been trying to locate you for over five years now."

"We?"

"My brother and I. Well, my brother actually. I’ve just been helping him. He’s not going to believe this."

Yeah, well, I think I know how his brother is going to feel. "So, who’s your brother and why’s he looking for me?"

"Oh," he smiles again and shakes his head, laughing softly. "Jared. Jared Cooper."

If that name is supposed to mean something to me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint him. I shake my head and shrug. "Sorry."

"Did you do some volunteer work with teenage boys at a club in Denver about seven years ago? Off of Colfax Avenue?"

"Coached hockey," I mumble. I still do, at a different club, when I have the time.

"Yeah. That’s the one. You worked with my younger brother. I have to tell you, I’m sure you dealt with a lot of kids, but I’m surprised you don’t remember Jared. He was a first-rate asshole. Man," he shook his head at the memory, "the things he put our mom through. Even stole a car, wrecked it. And heavy into drugs. He was pretty messed up. Space used to–"

"Space? Did you say Space?"

"Yeah. That’s what they used to call him because he was drugged out of his head most of the time."

"I remember Space." God, I hadn’t thought about that kid in years. At the time, I’d imagined that Space would end up dead from an overdose or from a deal gone bad, either that or he’d spend his life in prison.

Matt grinned. "He’s been looking for you for a long time."

"Yeah? How’s he doing?"

"He’s doing great. Here," he dug in his back pocket and pulled out a wallet, began leafing through it. "He really straightened himself out. Went back to school. He’s been a paramedic for the last year and a half."

"Yeah?" I feel a surge of pride. Matt hands me a small photo from his wallet. I stare down at it, at a face that only slightly resembles my memory of a young, strung-out, teenaged boy. This man is handsome, with a broad smile and a kind face. Seated beside him is a young woman, very pretty and dainty-looking. In front of them are two little dark-haired boys, neither one of whom can be more than six years old.

"That’s his family. Ruth, his wife, and their boys."

The kids are cute. The oldest has a gap where his front teeth should be. The smaller one is smiling shyly, one hand wrapped firmly around his father’s thumb, like he’s hanging on to a big, breathing security blanket. Looking at it, I remember the feel of Charlie’s hand in mine.

"Jack and Michael."

"What?" I look up at him, startled.

"The older one is Michael. The little guy is named Robert, but for some reason, everybody calls him Jack."

I have to blink. Then, reluctantly, hand the picture back to him. "So why has he been looking for me?"

"To thank you," Matt is scribbling something on the back of the photo. "You really pulled him through some bad times. Straightened him out. Made him feel like he could be somebody." Matt looks over at me. "You had no idea, did you?"

I didn’t. I barely remember the kid. Can only think of a couple of times that we’d even spoken to one another.

Matt holds the photo out to me. "Here, take it. His address and phone number are on the back. Maybe you could give him a call sometime. He’d love to hear from you."

I take it, stare down at the young, happy family. "Yeah. I will."

"Great."

Lights flashed across the backs of our heads, reflecting off of the rearview mirror.

"Oh, our ride’s here."

I had almost forgotten Daniel was here. Pocketing the photo, I shake Matt’s hand as Daniel gets out of the car and goes to the truck.

"It was nice to meet you, sir." He clings to my hand a moment. "Thank you for giving my brother back to me."

I can’t speak past the lump that’s growing in the back of my throat. I nod my head and pull myself from the car. Daniel is waiting with the crutches. He hands them to me, watching me closely. I hobble back to the dark sedan and open the door to get in.

"Col. O’Neill!"

I look back at the young trooper. "Jared said you told him he could make a difference if he tried, just put a little effort into it. He is, sir. Every day."

I want to ask him what he means by that. His brother is making a difference, or he’s putting an effort into it? Then, I realize it doesn’t matter.

"Ready to go home, Jack?"

"Yeah." I watch until the taillights of the patrol car disappear, then crawl into the backseat. As we pull out onto the road, I can’t help but glance at my watch. 2353 hours. I’d made it, with seven minutes to spare.

I look out the window; I can see the stars again.

"Daniel?"

"Hmm?"

I know he’s watching me, but I continue to stare at my face in the window. It looks a little less tired, and is surrounded by the glittering backdrop of a night sky. I may never change the universe, but at least I’ve made a difference in my little corner of it.

I reach up, touch the photo tucked inside my pocket. "It’s been a good day."

**The End**

  


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> Author’s Note: This was written for Judy, because it only takes a moment to make a lasting difference in someone’s life. Thanks go to Brenda and Chezza for the quick beta! All mistakes are mine, and mine alone. Feedback is welcomed.

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>   
>  © November 2003, Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate  
> (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko  
> Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and no money  
> exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters,  
> situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be  
> posted elsewhere without the consent of the author  
> 

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